Chachan took the sword again with a small nod and returned to his workbench. In short order he had produced a file, oil, and a proper whetstone, which were all set out before him like a surgeon preparing for a major operation. Though, given the calm and ease that he went about wetting the blade itself and beginning to file lightly at the edge, it was certainly not as dire a task as that.

Y'zhara was walking through the halls of the industrial section of Ul'dah and was wearing a black linen t-shirt, a pair of black shorts and casual looking black and red sandals as she made her way up a flight of stairs before taking a right. It looked like she knew her way around the place, she had been living in this section of the city for about three moons after all. She also appeared to be carrying an arcanist's tome in one hand, and a satchel in the other, which appeared to have food items inside.

Eventually she'd reach her destination - Usagenji Ironworks. She'd quietly open the door and sneak behind Jana and the Elezen female, heading to the back area of the smithy which appeared to have a small, compact kitchen and started unloading what appeared to be groceries. She'd then take out a bag of premade cookies and would neatly organize and set them on a large plate before coming back out to the front. She'd put on a friendly smile to the customers.

"Welcome, both of you! Feel free to take some of these cookies..." she'd set the plate down on the bench for everyone to access. "Would any of you like something to drink while you wait?"

Jana had no idea what a kotatsu was, but didn't want to embarrass herself by voicing it and sat on the bench next to the elezen woman instead. She spoke slowly, as if taking the time to choose the right words, while smoothing out her plain clothes in a nervous way. "I'm having a problem with my horas, they've been feeling a bit unbalanced. I think the, uh... Center prong. I think it's worn down too much. Oh, and I guess it could use some shine too. The shiny bits are looking a bit tarnished."

The miqo'te is momentarily distracted by the arrival of a third woman, but doesn't pay any really attention to her until she speaks. She isn't sure about cookies either but again tries to ignore it. "...What kind of drinks? Any ale?"

Chachan blinked and finally looked away from his work at the mention of cookies, his sweet-tooth getting the best of him. Still, it seemed what he was doing did not require the whole of his attentions, as he continued even with his eyes on the plate and the Seeker that held them. Moreso the plate, given the quiet rumbling of his stomach, but his gaze remained fixed on Zhara's own when he spoke to her.

His request made, the Lalafell turned his attentions briefly to Jana to nod at her explanation before focusing on finishing his work. Which didn't seem like all that much more, considering he had managed to finish the sharpening with the file while the Keeper was mulling over her choice of words. He seamlessly moved into going at the blade with the oil and whetstone next, cleaning and polishing the edge he had given to it. It would certainly seem like he had been quite truthful in his claim that he would be done "pretty quick-like."

"A weight pro'lem, Ms. Jana?" he repeated for clarification, his voice lifted a little to not get lost among the incessant scraping sound of his work. "I'll give it a quick look-see after I finish thi' up, then. Almost done."

Zhara nodded. "Okay.." she'd bend down to offer Chachan the tray as she turned to look at Jana. "Um... well we don't have ale, but we have juice, tea, water, aldgoat milk." she'd shrug as she continued to hold out the tray, which had an array of flavors from plain sugar cookies, to chocolate chip.

As much as he wanted to take one now, Chachan had to wave the proffered plate away. "Got oil 'n stuff on me gloves 'n I wanna get this done fer th' Elezen lady there. Jus'... save a cookie'r two fer me fer when 'm done?" His voice hiked up a half-octave or so at the end of the question, adding a bit of pleading to the request. There was a bit more pleading in the puppy-eyed look he gave her before turning his attentions back to his work.

Work that he was doing a little bit faster now that there was the prospect of cookies afterward. Not so much faster that he got careless or unprofessional - the importance of his profession was too well-ingrained within him - but he definitely seemed to be checking his work a little less frequently. Still, left to his own devices, it wouldn't be much longer at all until the greatsword was all sharpened up and ready to go.

"I'll have the milk!" The elezen said to Zhara, waving her hand. Seeing the plate of cookies reminded her of her newfound friends, who offered treats of their own as they traveled. She even thought of taking up a bit of cooking herself to make up for it.

The elezen took a cookie as she waited, thanking the miqote that was offering. It was shaped like a wizard.
Seeing the worn hora, she wanted to ask Jana a question, but she seemed preoccupied. So instead, she tried breaking the ice a bit. "Everyone loves eating these in different ways." she said to Jana. She demonstrated her own, which was to put the cookie in her mouth and, keeping her grin, snap it at the neck.

A lock of dark hair framing a round, pinkish cheek came into view. An intense gaze, the sort that ran nails over one's back, crept into the room before her. She had come around again, to loiter and eat. This was not so uncommon when Chachanji was generally alone, or more recently, training, but for this particular guest to arrive during the day was an irregularity. She wouldn't announce her presence. Perhaps it was simply her training, but despite her controlled stepping and breathing, Virara seemed to almost assume anyone else could, or should, be able to notice her as easily as she herself might. In her ignorance she had begun to wonder why so many people shouted in dismay as a prelude to greeting. First peeking from the bottom of the window, not difficult for her to do given her height, then sneaking a furtive glance around the doorframe, as if trespassing, she might never arrive without reason, but the overall impression Virara gave was nothing less than a stray cat looking to make off with a pilfered meal.

Virara, after all, swore her entire day over to continuous training in order to triturate all complacency to nothing. Frivolities such as play or excessive rest never came easily to the intense girl. Other people too were counted among frivolities. Her memory was finely tuned; Master saw to that with the switch, but the names of others weren't to be valued. She could not forget them, so she instead endeavored not to use them. If she didn't use them, with time they would surely fade away into the world of the -vulgar.- "Chagenji" was an exception, a compromise. She very rarely compromised.

Her round, placid face peered about the door frame in silence to watch his work. Much the same as always, with pure focus, honed efficiency, intense diligence. She had needed to be instructed in the most vicious of ways to even begin to grasp the essence of the dutiful student. The ability to learn was never as much a challenge as creating the will to do so. Replacing empty space with fullness was as much natural fact to her mind as it was to the world around her.

Virara blinked twice, shifting her gaze to the much taller woman at Chachanji's side, lingering there for a moment. A doll's eye in red that seemed crafted from glass, granting nothing but more questions, and questioning in equal degree. Virara's was not the sort of stare most wanted to endure for any longer than absolutely necessary, even when she clearly bore no hostility. She seemed to have followed Jana's morose tail to the forge, but the sight of the assortment of characters within seemed to uncoil her spring, and her half-face seemed to retract slowly from view. Hesitantly, though. It was difficult to keep her greedy eye off Chachanji's blacksmithing. Still, she seemed ready to retreat. Words were an enemy she needed preparation to overcome.

"Sure thing ma'm, I'll be right back." Zhara set the cookies on the kotasu and headed back to the kitchen area where she pulled out a bottle of milk from the cold storage and started to pour the Elezen customer a glass. Once that was complete she'd head back out to the front area of the smithy and would hand the woman her milk. Zhara would smile and bow politely, much like a very polite maidservant. "If you need anything else let me know."

Her gaze would reach the door temporarily... someone was peeking. She didn't know who it was for sure, but made a few educated guesses. Zhara would form a sly smirk on her face as she walked back over to the kotasu and grabbed the plate of cookies. She'd continue to act like she didn't notice that Virara was at the door and would hold the plate of cookies out to the crack of the door, as if trying to lure the stranger inside. She continued to look over at Chachan and his clients as she stood by the door.

The elezen started feeling like she was being watched. she instinctively rubbed the back of her neck, covered behind long black hair. It was a tic having a sword on her back gave rise to.

Zhara gave her the glass of milk she had asked for. "Thank you--ah! do you work here?" she asked Zhara as she took the glass. After a bite of her cookie, this time severing the wizard at the midsection, she started drinking the milk slowly. Even with her blade at the smithy's table, she felt reassurance.

Chachanji, seemingly finished with the sharpening now, hefted up the grand blade and tilted it this way and that - giving it one last look-over as the newly honed edge glittered in the light that spilled in from the open doorway of the smithy. It wasn't the sharpest the Lalafell could make it - he knew that much, even if a general onlooker might not - but a sword of this make was meant to bludgeon as much as to cut, so it had been a purposeful choice to stick to a sort of a happy medium of sharpness. Giving it too much of an edge would make the blade itself more brittle and prone to chipping or cracking during use, which would simply result in more frequent stops at a smithy for repairs in return for a mere handful of extra-potent attacks.

An Ul'dahn-born smith might have reveled in that idea - since more repairs would mean more business and thus more gil - but the Doman Lalafell had been raised differently. Back in the homeland, Gegenji-made equipment had always been lauded for its quality and its reliability, so it had been a crucial part of the boy's training to ensure he strove to maintain that standard. In fact, it was a common saying his father would recite to him during his lessons - that one's weapons and armor should not break before the user's own desire to fight. Combine that with Chachanji's own desire to not see someone hurt due to their equipment failing them, and one was left with probably the most customer-oriented and reputable smith that one could find in the Jewel.

The boy's prices didn't hurt either - having been around the same as the other smiths in the area, even if their skills were inferior to his. Zhara had quickly seen to correcting that, and even now the little Lalafell referenced a little cheat sheet of what the "new" prices for his services were. He was still holding it in one hand as he brought the greatsword back to the Elezen for the second time in less than a bell, the blade's forte resting against his shoulder as if he were its wielder instead of her. If one didn't immediately realize that the thing was several sizes too big for him and a gentle push would likely send him toppling over with it.

Chachan cast a brief glance in Zhara's direction, as if checking if she wanted to supply a second opinion. However, she was currently occupied - seeming to try and entice someone outside with the tasty prospect of cookies. Curiosity got the better of the little Lalafell and he leaned over a bit to try and get a better look, and ended up stumbling a couple steps when the weight of the great blade sought to follow suite. Fortunately, he managed to both catch himself... as well as a better look at who the mystery guest was.

Really, John didn't want to do this but he had no other choice in the matter. He would have ask Howl to check the wand but Howl would have ask questions and even though he told Fury that he wouldn't say anything about the truth on why he needed to know about what the wand was made from, he already knew that he couldn't lie to Howl. He would have spill everything which would have made Howl worried about him and well, even with the gift from Howl, he was still worried that Howl might not come home.

Grandfather would have been the next one he would have went to but Judge sense of Justice, the older Auri would have went after the blackmarket merchant for what he possible could be doing. "Hope Protector had better luck with the powder horn." he murmurred to Kit.

So now he was here, coming to a friend that he hope wouldn't ask questions if it turn out the wand was made from Auri horn. His hand resting on the pack where he had been carrying the wand, he step into the small smithery, "Cha?" And froze at the sight of the crowd. Oh, this was NOT what he needed. "You're busy...so I'll come back later." he murmur, getting ready to turn and head back out of the place.

The elezen paid the smith, and left a bit extra for Zhara's treats. "Thanks, you two." after sheathing it, she gave a bow and started to leave, "I'll think I'll remember this place." She said as she was walking out. There was a man wondering about at the entrance as she left, but that was neither here nor there for her.

When she was some distance away from the place she tapped her sword, causing it to disappear. With a deep breath and a dusting of her robe, she was ready to meet her friends, and ready to protect them. "Back to work..." She whispered, as she blended back into the streets of Ul'dah, another lass in the crowd...keeping watch.

Before the Elezen left with her newly repaired greatsword, Zhara would respond to her queston. "Eh... kind of? I just like to help out. My boyfriend's business is pretty important to me." she'd then nod to Chachan, giving him confirmation that 800 gil would do.

Before she came around, Chachan's pricing was an absolute mess. He would sell his services for an extremely low price, too low and while that rendered him a lot of business, it also gave people opportunity to take advantage of the poor guy. So with Zhara's previous business training from her father, she managed to come up with a pricing list that would give Chachan more income that he deserved, yet was still reasonable for his customers.

Zhara would smile and wave goodbye with her free hand as she held the cookies in another. "Have a nice day ma'm." She'd then giggle as Chachan called Virara's name. "Don't be shy, you're always welcome here." She'd then look out the door to notice the man that was about to leave. "Uh... hi! Welcome to Usagenji Ironworks. Can we help you with something sir?"

Virara bobbed her head in acknowledgement, sliding into the room. A couple furtive glances preceded her; even as many times as she entered Chachanji's forge, or any room for that matter, her fastidious caution might border on paranoia, were it not reflex. Her eye was naturally drawn to dark corners and enclosed spaces, to people's hands and feet, the settled weight of their posture, where their gaze focused, shapes and patterns. It altogether didn't seem like the girl who crossed the threshold with modest steps looked at a person so much as the qualia they exuded.

"Gloomy Lady."

Virara nodded to Jana. An unflattering nickname, but it was hardly the worst anyone had gotten from her. She glanced over her shoulder at John as he passed by, seizing upon his momentary indecision almost immediately.

"... Oh... A face I remember. Chagenji knows you. Blue Cat."

She slipped to the side to give the Elezen customer a wide berth to pass by, not difficult given her size.

"... If you have business. Go in. I am not here for that."

Zhara's plate of cookies caught her eye. Already possessing a dour and passive demeanor, Virara did not seem enthused about the prospect of more sugar. Every taste bud Chachanji possessed that was hardwired to make him crave something sweet was apparently sworn to spiciness for her. It was impossible for Virara to make anything (and few would demand her collateral damage-intensive method of cooking to begin with.) without it having all the qualities of an over-aspected fire cluster. Still, she was beholden to a certain code of perfunctory manners, even if her words often betrayed her lack of care for them. Perhaps just one would be enough to satisfy courtesy. Her small mouth seemed to spirit away segments of her meal with every blink, leaving no trace but crumbs behind.